


nothing gold can stay

by plumcat



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Death, Grieving, Rampant historical inaccuracy, Suicidal Ideation, Swearing, angst angst baby, don't @ me bitch, look this was really just an excuse to be the classical music nerd that i am, overuse of commas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:11:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumcat/pseuds/plumcat
Summary: nothing gold can stay, writes robert frost, and this isn’t quite right, because roman is the only thing that does and roman is gold, all of him, flashing eyes and brittle bones, a heart drenched in dreams, heavy and dripping with potential.the centuries have treated them differently. roman has grown bright and beautiful, alight with the wonder of a million years to spend like pennies. he’s careless and bold, running through the pages of history with reckless abandon, kissing boys and singing in nightclubs and fighting wars and breaking glass.he and logan orbit around each other, their paths curving in parallels but never quite intersecting. roman keeps trying to find logan, to talk to him, but logan runs and avoids and traverses the world to get away, because dealing with one person like himself is already far too much.but destiny works in strange ways.





	nothing gold can stay

time is a slippery thing. it exists without existing, and in all the lifetimes that logan has walked through in search of his own he has never been able to understand it.

he learns things, though, rules to make more sense of it all. first and foremost.

love fucking  _ hurts _ .

it hurts so much to realize that every person he loves will leave him, whether or not they want to. he’ll have to stand, frozen to his seat, and watch the world turn around him, watch his friends die and then watch them die again when their names stop being spoken.

their memories drift into the wind until he’s the only one left to cling to his half-forgotten snippets— the soft edge of a smile, the bright burst of a laugh. they’re not gone, he tells himself, as he places flowers on countless graves, they’re not gone until i forget. (he’s so afraid to forget. they’re counting on him to know it all.)

it hurts and so he tries to be cold. he tries so hard to block it all away, to push his emotions down, to numb himself into a machine— something inhuman. something that doesn’t get attached. something that can just be.

but his soul is human, damn it all, and he loves anyway. he falls in love with people and places and empires and cobbled alleyways and musty libraries and the way the sky looks after the rain, and it always ends up leaving.

so it’s just him. alone. fuck, maybe that’s the only reason— a cruel twist of fate. he cannot die. he’ll never die. fuck. he wants to die alongside his friends. come back, come back. he doesn’t want to be alone.

or maybe it’s something worse than chance. maybe it’s that the universe has plans. maybe it’s him, the golden boy, the only recurring character. the one who keeps coming back.

roman.

_ nothing gold can stay _ , writes robert frost, and this isn’t quite right, because roman is the only thing that  _ does  _ and roman is gold, all of him, flashing eyes and brittle bones, a heart drenched in dreams, heavy and dripping with potential.

the centuries have treated them differently. roman has grown bright and beautiful, alight with the wonder of a million years to spend like pennies. he’s careless and bold, running through the pages of history with reckless abandon, kissing boys and singing in nightclubs and fighting wars and breaking glass.

he and logan orbit around each other, their paths curving in parallels but never quite intersecting. roman keeps trying to find logan, to talk to him, but logan runs and avoids and traverses the world to get away, because dealing with one person like himself is already far too much.

but destiny works in strange ways.

the first time they meet— really meet—  is in 1787. vienna.

it’s important to note that history is built on counterpoints. the classical era sweeps in as a direct opposition to the baroque’s excessive dramatics and lavish, operatic finery. the enlightenment says, “think, don’t feel.” the enlightenment believes in structure and logic, in carefulness and understated elegance, and logan believes in structure and logic.

(it’s the only thing he believes in. he has to believe in it. his life (lives) is (are) steeped in logic, because nothing makes sense but it  _ has _ to, god, it has to. he needs to find a reason for it all, a reason why it’s him who has to suffer through these centuries.)

so perhaps that’s why he’s drawn to the enlightenment, the classical era of music. he tentatively steps into the spotlight, teaches himself piano and writes a few string quartets, and people... like him. they  _ listen _ . they come to see him play and it’s nice to be liked, to be wanted, however temporary it may be.

but he’s learned. he’s still careful. his music is technical and beautiful but it is careful. moderate. never exposing too much of himself. he doesn’t make friends. they call him stuck up. enigmatic. cold. it doesn’t bother him, really, it doesn’t, so long as they still listen. (it’s better this way, he tells himself. it’s what he wants. it’s what he wants.) 

and then he comes. roman. he storms into vienna with fistuflls of sheet music, string trios that somehow sound orchestral. his work blooms with fervor and intensity, a vibrant, raw, emotion that cuts through the fine-tuned elegance of the classics.

he’s a little bit crazy, the people say, but he’s also a genius, this scrappy young man with flaming eyes and calloused hands and a brutal brand of vehemence.

he comes to visit logan. he does not schedule an appointment, which is terrible manners, but perhaps he’s realized at this point that logan will only turn him away if given the opportunity.

they stand in the drawing room, surveying each other. roman’s beaming. logan is not.

“what business brings you in search of my company?” logan asks finally.

“i simply wished to see you in person,” roman says, reaching out a hand. “logan, yes? i believe a meeting is long overdue.”

logan shakes his hand. roman’s grip is firm and his hand is warm and he makes direct eye contact, his gaze piercing. logan wants to look away but this feels like a contest, somehow, and he will not lose.

“a social call, then. alright. therese! get the gentleman’s coat, please.”

“by god, logan!” — roman hands his coat to therese — “i’m no more a gentleman than the street rats, nor do i hope to be.”

logan huffs a not-quite-laugh.

“is this  _ really _ the first time we’ve met?” roman muses, thoughtful, tapping his chin with his finger. “in all these centuries? It seems absurd. I think we talked in passing at a greek theater performance once. that must’ve been at least five hundred years ago. no, definitely more, let me think—”

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you mean,” logan says tensely.

“do not pretend to be vapid, we both know you are anything but,” roman says, leaning his arms on the closed lid of the piano and quirking an eyebrow at logan.

logan stares at him for a moment, face blank, before he crosses the room with two large strides and lays his hand on the piano beside roman’s arm. “play for me.”

“what?”

“was my directive at all unclear? i have heard much about your perceived musical ability and desire to see if there is any truth to the rumors.”

roman looks at him a bit oddly, but shrugs and sits down, running his hands over the keys. he arranges his fingers into a starting position, his shoulders lifting, his body a tense line buzzing with kinetic energy, a predator about to pounce.

and then he comes alive. he’s improvising, his hands dancing across the keys with a dexterity and vivacity that takes logan’s breath away. the technique is a bit sloppy in places, but there’s so much passion there that it makes up for it, this bold brightness overflowing with character. the drawing room is rich with sound, booming fortissimos pressed flush up against the soft, delicate contrast of the lighter passages; smoothly tumbling scales and sharp, staccato arpeggios dancing together in a seamless harmony.

it goes on for too long and not long enough and when roman finishes, with a pounding cadence that hangs in the air like smoke, logan isn’t sure what to say.

“well?” roman asks, expectant, a little playful. “have i exceeded your expectations yet, or are you contemplating however i’ve managed to secure a musical career?’ 

it’s impressive, and wonderful, for sure, but it’s also a  _ lot _ . it might be too much. logan hasn’t decided yet.

“it’s certainly... different,” he says finally. “very brave of you.”

“it’s necessary.”

“excuse me?”

“different is what i aim for in all i do,” roman smirks. “i aim not to impress, but to impact.”

therese brings out tea and they talk a bit more, lightly, about the weather and the biscuits and it’s odd, a little forced, but not entirely unpleasant.

“well, i suppose i shall now take my leave,” roman says after a while, standing up. therese bustles over to return him his coat. “this has been a pleasant visit. i hope it is not our last.”

“i certainly agree,” logan lies. he directs roman to the door and they exchange their parting words, cordial and trite. roman pushes open the door and steps through and he’s going going going wait wait don’t—

“why are you so intent on  _ changing  _ things?” logan blurts before he can stop himself, maybe because he has to know, maybe so that roman will stop walking away from him.

roman turns back and looks at logan carefully. he’s framed in the doorway, a perfect picture of nonchalant beauty. his face is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes, something bright and enticing and just a little bit wicked (and there’s a part of logan that likes that something, that wants that something), and after thinking for a bit, he speaks, voice soft.

“why would i waste my infinity on loneliness when i’ve been given a perfect opportunity to make a difference? it’s a choice we both have to make, you know, and it’s never too late to reconsider.” he pauses, and smiles slightly. “after all, we have all the time in the world. good day, logan.”

and then he’s gone.

and logan stands there in the drawing room and presses a hand to his fluttering heart and tries to breathe.  _ be cold _ , says the voice in his head, jagged and frigid, as a grin fights its way onto his face, but this time it cannot be stopped. there’s a bubbly hope seeping its way into his chest, and there’s a new voice rising in the back of his brain now, and it’s vivid and warm and full of hope and sounds like roman.

_ maybe you don’t have to be,  _ it whispers.  _ maybe, instead, you can be gold. maybe you don’t have to be alone. _

after all, logan knows, roman will be back.

(the universe is stubborn like that.)

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted to tumblr. this was intended to be part of a larger au but then i lost motivation. it still works as a standalone, i think. i may write something else related to it someday. i wasn't going to post this here bc it's short but eh, fuck it.
> 
> comment into trick me into writing more <3


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